Full Circle
by Brittany Diamond
Summary: Hameron. Takes place a bit after Season 5. During a lag in case work, House is assigned to take care of a flu-ridden Cameron. Sarcasm, sexual tension, and revealing banter ensues. Proper characterization is always the most important thing! T for language.
1. Chapter One: Not a Case, Exactly

**Author's Note: **So timeline-wise this should go after season five and I'm not deviating from the stories that have happened so far in the show. I'm assuming that nothing _incredibly_ life altering happens for the rest of the current season, so in theory this fic will make sense. To me, this chapter is kind of on the short side, but they should be a bit longer after this one. Every good story has a set up, right? Oh, and I'm not a doctor and I don't pretend to be so the medical jargon will be kept to a relative minimum. Enjoy. =D

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**Chapter One:**

James Wilson walked down the hall towards his office with his usual stride, sipping coffee as he went. As he passed by House's office, he glanced through the glass to do a quick check on his friend's status.

What he saw stopped the oncologist in his tracks.

House was sitting in his chair, doing absolutely nothing. He wasn't bouncing his ball off the wall and catching it with the handle of his cane, he wasn't surfing Youtube for footage of botched surgeries, he wasn't even casually flipping through one of the Playboys he kept not-so-hidden in his desk or watching his soap. The great, restless mind was simply sitting and staring at nothing.

Unable to resist the intrigue, Wilson poked his head into the office and said, "You okay?"

House snapped out of his daze and looked up at the door as he replied, "Wilson, has there ever been a single moment in all the years that you've known me when I've been okay?"

"Sober? Well, no," Wilson answered, taking a step further into the room.

"Do you have any reason to believe that, at this precise moment, I'm okay? Was it my loud singing of show tunes, my tap dancing, my shining smile?"

Wilson sighed, "No."

"Then get the hell out of my office," he snapped. When Wilson didn't move House added, "Pretty please, with hookers on top?"

"You're not doing anything," Wilson observed.

House leaned back in his chair, "Since when is that shocking? If I'm not saving a life, I'm sitting on my ass. I've been keeping up that pattern for years. I'm starting to wonder if those diplomas on your wall are legit."

"No, you're literally doing nothing," Wilson pointed out, "You're not harassing your team, you're not torturing me, you're not watching tv, you're just…sitting."

"Please tell me whatever thrilling theory you've got in that pesky little brain of yours, I don't think I can take the suspense."

"I don't have a theory. I've never seen you in a vegetative state before, which would be why I stuck my head in to ask the very simple, albeit incredibly brilliant, question: _Are you okay_?'"

House leaned forward, opting for the path of least resistance, "I don't know. There hasn't been an interesting case in a week, there hasn't been a _really_ interesting case in a month…I think I'm just bored."

Wilson sipped on his coffee, "Do some Clinic hours."

House tilted his chin down and stared up at his friend through his eyebrows, "Now I'm sure those diplomas aren't legit."

"Go down to the clinic, mock a few poor sick people without insurance, maybe poke a dying kid with your cane, you'll be good as new by lunch. Well, as good as you can be anyway."

"Oh I get it, I should choose to be annoyed because anything is better than nothing. Theoretically."

Wilson shrugged, "Theoretically, yeah."

"Come back in half an hour. You're infuriatingly sensitive advice is better once the caffeine has had a chance to wreak a little more havoc on your colon."

"Fine, have it your way," Wilson said, giving up and leaving House's office.

"You say that like I never manipulate you into getting my way!" House yelled after him.

Wilson kept walking, but yelled back, "Yes, we are still on for lunch today! Thanks for the confirmation! It's sweet of you, really!"

************************************

Lisa Cuddy sat at her big, expensive desk trying to get her work at least somewhat organized, when House walked into her office with a particular spring in his step.

He leaned his weight on his cane as he broke the silence, "You paged me, oh horniest of administrators?"

"Why are you so…giddy?" she asked, her eyebrow arching.

"A page from you either means someone's dying of something fascinating, or you need me to bitch slap your pimp again so you can get paid. Either way, I figured it'd be a good time."

Cuddy took the high road and ignored the insult, "It's not a case, exactly."

"Pimp Master Bling giving you trouble again?"

His remark didn't amuse her, "It's Cameron."

House paused for a second, but didn't falter, "And what, pray tell, is wrong with the bleeding heart of Princeton Plainsboro?"

Cuddy crossed her legs under her desk, "She's sick."

"How bad?" House asked immediately, his mind jumping to the worst possible scenario as it usually did.

"She's been diagnosed with influenza," she replied, clearing her throat.

House rolled his eyes, "Adding a couple syllables and throwing in a cool suffix only makes it sound threatening, but it's still just a flu."

"I want you to go take care of her."

He straightened up and arched an eyebrow, "Seriously?"

"There's no mysterious case on the horizon," Cuddy began, not surprised that she had to explain, "you avoid the clinic at all costs, and anything else I would give you to do would bore you even more, if you even did it. Go be a human for a while, take care of a sick friend. The E.R. doesn't run nearly as well with her at home."

"Can't her Backstreet Boy from down under wipe her nose and make her soup?"

"As it turns out, he's a doctor too. Works a lot."

He thought for a moment, then narrowed his eyes and pointed his cane at her with an accusatory sense of authority, "It's evaluation week."

Cuddy scoffed, "What?"

"This is an incredibly lame request, even for you, and it gets me off hospital grounds for a couple days. You could just ask me to disappear, you know."

She leaned her chin on her hands, dropping the façade, "Then I wouldn't have a good excuse for your absence."

House started to leave, "I think I'll stick around. I've been putting off stuffing O.R. patients with confetti for months now. It brightens up an otherwise dull procedure quite nicely, don't you think?"

"Stop," she called out, "Do this and I won't force you to make up for the clinic hours you've avoided this week."

He turned back to her, "Plus the next two weeks. And I want the t.v. in my office hooked up for all HD all the time."

"Fine," she agreed, clenching her jaw.

"Alright then," he said in an overly enthusiastic tone.

He was gone from her office a moment later.


	2. Chapter Two: Dinner, Phones and Dishes

**Author's Note: **Ahem, forgot to add the disclaimer. I DON'T OWN SHIT, I JUST LOVE HOUSE AND CAMERON.

That is all.

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**Chapter Two: Dinner, Phones and Dishes**

Allison Cameron was reading a book in bed when she heard a knock at her door. She set the novel down on her night stand and climbed out of bed, nabbing a tissue for her nose as she did so. She shuffled to the door in her blue pajamas, not caring enough to smooth back her frizzy hair or put on a robe. All she wanted to do was satisfy her curiosity and see who it was before she ignored them and went back to bed. Once she looked through the peep hole, however, her plan took a drastic turn.

When she saw House standing on the other side, staring at the ceiling with a fantastic sense of boredom and forced responsibility, her eyes widened but she forced herself to remain calm. He probably had a perfectly rational explanation for showing up on her door step, and it was probably something completely dull and medically relevant to whatever unsolved mystery he was currently obsessing over.

Still, she kept the chain on when she opened the door.

"What do you want, House?" she asked, peering at him through the small space that the chain allowed the door to reveal.

"Cuddy didn't call you?" he said, answering her question with a question.

She shook her head, "No."

"Ah. Well I've been assigned to be your personal nurse until you're well enough to go back to work," he continued after he watched her jaw drop with surprise, "It's evaluation week at the hospital and I'm getting HD channels out of the deal. Can I come in now?"

"I'm calling Cuddy," she stated flatly, closing the door in his face.

"Cripples are usually allowed a chair when they wait, you know!" he called from the other side, "Unless they're paraplegic, then the chair is kind of already included!"

Cameron snatched her over-the-shoulder knapsack from the couch and fished out her cell phone. Twenty seconds later, Cuddy was on the line.

"I am _not_ letting House into my apartment," Cameron said harshly into the phone as she went into her bedroom and out of House's ear shot, "That's like inviting Hitler into a synagogue."

"Oh shit," Cuddy swore on the other end of the line, "I meant to call you but the evaluator has been up my ass all day. I just need a place to hide him for a couple of days."

"So use me as a cover story and let him go home and O.D. on Vicodin."

"I figured I could get him out of my hair and give him a lesson in humanity. Two birds with one stone."

"Thank you _so much_ for clearing it with me first, you saved me a big pain in the ass."

Cuddy saw the evaluator heading into her office then, and her speaking quickened, "I'll double your Christmas bonus."

"Christmas was five days ago."

"A New Year's bonus then."

Cameron pinched the bridge of her nose, "Deal," she said through gritted teeth.

She hung up her phone and threw it into her bag as she made her way back to the door. Detaching the chain, she opened the door and coldly waved House inside.

He looked her over as he entered, clearly working out a theory in his mind as he said, "What'd you get out of her?"

She closed the door behind him when he failed to do so, "A New Year's bonus."

"Nice," he commented, a grin flickering across his face, "A few years ago you would've just asked for a sick puppy."

"Apparently I'm getting that too," she said as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared him down.

He didn't miss a beat, "Just don't try to pounce on the poor thing too fast. I know he's a turn on but he needs to get his bearings first." As he stepped away he added in a hushed tone, "Oh, and bestiality's a crime."

With that he took a quick self-guided tour of her apartment as Cameron curled up in her comfy chair and held her head in frustration.

"You won't find anything interesting," she called, "I'm just as boring here as I am at the hospital."

"That's cool," he answered, poking his head in her bathroom, "I figured the gimp had gone home for the day anyway. Or is he just stuck in the OR?"

Her head bolted up then, and she knew she had to think fast, "He won't be here tonight. He's going out with friends."

House came out of her bedroom and stood in the doorway, "You do a great job at hiding the whips and chains, I'll have to take a closer look if you fall asleep. You're on your death bed and Chase is out partying with the other wombats?"

"The flu is hardly a death sentence."

"But he's also madly in love with you, and suffers from the same sense of humanity that you do. If he's not working then he'd be all up in your grill and rendering me useless."

She shifted her weight, "His presence isn't required to render your sense of humanity useless."

He cocked his head to one side, "Very nice, deflecting with insults. I know I've seen that somewhere before. You sniping at me means-"

"It's Wednesday?"

"Means that he's not really with friends, which means he's unaccounted for. Now why would you get all huffy and defensive simply because he's unaccounted for? He either _is_ accounted for and you're embarrassed about where he is or," his eyes squinted at her for a moment, "you broke up."

Before she could answer, his phone started to sing It's Raining Men from his coat. As he reached into his pocket to answer it, he noticed her inquiring expression.

"My personalized ring tone for Wilson," he explained, "Confuses the hell out of the nurses when I'm fondling them in the janitor's closet." He hobbled out into the hall to have his conversation in peace, flipping open his phone and pressing it to his ear. "What do you want?"

"Cuddy called me," Wilson said from the other line, "She said that you're actually at Cameron's place. I had to call to see if you're free for the apocalypse, I have front row seats."

"I'll bring the beer."

Wilson glazed over the joke, "You're seriously gonna take care of her?"

"We were planning on talking about that once she finishes making dinner," House said as he leaned his back up against the corridor's wall.

"You're making the sick one cook your meals?" Wilson said in an honestly shocked tone.

"Oh please, ask anyone and they'll say I'm the sick one. Misanthropy trumps philanthropy every time."

"But she _is_ making your dinner?"

"Not yet, but it's bound to happen. I'm hungry."

Wilson sighed, "So you're just going to sit around her apartment and make her miserable instead of sitting around your apartment and making yourself miserable because, well, you've been in a rut since birth and you're looking to break the cycle."

"Exactly," House replied with a nod of his head.

"Or you're there to pry into her relationship with Chase because you're an obsessive jerk who sinks to new lows every time he can't find something to play with."

"Of course not," House defended, "that would be rude and irresponsible."

"Right. So how many Vicodin did you take before driving to Cameron's place on your motorcycle?"

"I wore a helmet."

House snapped his phone shut and went back into Cameron's place. She was pouring herself some orange juice in the kitchen as he closed the door behind him, and she didn't bother to look up at his entrance.

"Sorry," House apologized, "He wanted to know if you'd thrown yourself at me yet. I told him that would probably come after dinner."

"We broke up," she said briskly, putting the orange juice back in the fridge and leaning up against it.

He absorbed the news casually, placing both hands on top of his cane and leaning forward, "Judging by your lack of overwhelmingly sappy devotion to everyone except yourself, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that Chase did the dumping?"

She sipped her drink, "I don't want to have this conversation."

"Then why'd you bring it up?"

"You brought it up, I answered your question to get you off my back. That's all."

He shrugged, "Fair enough."

A few seconds of silence passed then, and Cameron took a few more sips of her orange juice. House's eyes darted around the room, pretending that he was completely preoccupied.

When she was almost done with her drink, he tapped his cane on the floor as he said, "So, who ended the insanely predictable union?"

She set the glass down on the counter, "_House_."

"I did? Funny, I was sure you had to be bleached blonde to have a say in that relationship. Did he want to move in? Two years seems like plenty of time."

"No," she answered with a clenched jaw.

"Your warm fuzzies finally start to clog up the air filter?"

"No."

"He hated the feel of latex and you, well, you're just a safety girl."

"He proposed," she said at last.

As she rinsed out her glass in the sink, she could practically feel him grinning. To her extreme dismay, she knew the conversation wasn't over.

"You did the right thing," he began as he wandered over in her direction, "A good looking, successful doctor with a dreamy accent is pretty low on the Good Catch-o-meter. It's right above fat plumbers and transvestites, I believe."

She busied herself with loading the dishwasher so she wouldn't have to look at him, "I wasn't ready and he gave me an ultimatum."

"Ugh, you're right. How dare he go after what he wants."

She set down the plate she had been holding and looked him dead in the eye. "Yeah," she said tersely, "how dare he." She barely let a moment pass before brushing past him and heading to her room, "I'm going back to bed. You're finishing the dishes and making me soup."

She slammed the door closed, ending the conversation.


	3. Chapter Three: Nailed

**Author's Note: **You too can make a difference. With an easy donation of one review every couple of chapters or more, you can feed the starving author and keep her alive for another installment, even if it's just a word or two. Please, review today.

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**Chapter Three: Nailed  
**

Cameron had been trying to read for ten minutes, but she just couldn't concentrate thanks to the occasional loud _clang _that came from the kitchen. It only took one pot to heat up canned soup, so House was clearly just trying to annoy her.

She hated that it was working.

Getting up from her bed, she pulled on her satin robe that matched her pajamas and let out a deep sigh as she opened her door and emerged into the main living area of her apartment. First she saw House's coat lying on the sofa, then she found the man himself standing over a simmering pot, staring at it intensely. He leaned on his cane with one hand, and in the other he held a wooden spoon that he used to either stir the soup or smack the extra pot he had sitting next to him on the counter. The sound of the bedroom door opening caused him to look up.

She held her robe closed to keep warm as she said, "You were expecting me to come out here and yell at you for making noise?

"You have a pretty lackluster selection of soups," he commented, adding a dash of salt to the pot and ignoring her question, "Campbell's chicken noodle or Campbell's chicken noodle."

She leaned against the door frame, "I'll have to keep your entertainment value in mind the next time I'm at the store." Her eyes drifted to the kitchen table, where she noticed two place settings across from each other. "You're eating with me?" she asked.

"I'm stuck here, I'm hungry, this is the only food you have."

She sat down at the table, "You could've gone out to get something."

House changed the subject, "When I asked Cuddy about Chase taking care of you she said he had to work, which means she didn't know you had thrown a perfectly good marriage proposal down the drain, which means nobody at the hospital knows because that place is worse than a high school locker room. I don't get why Chase would want to keep it quiet, a rejected proposal is prime material for rebound sex, and I don't get why you would want to keep it quiet because…well you have no reason to."

He started looking around aimlessly for the bowls, and she got up from her seat to help. As he reached up to open one of the high cabinets, she ducked down next to him and opened one of the lower ones.

He closed the cabinet in front of him and took a step back as he said, "I guess my 'after dinner' prediction was a little off."

She looked up at him with wry eyes and held up a soup bowl in each hand, "I'm after the bowls, not your balls."

"Wow," he smirked, raising both eyebrows, "That's the most foul thing I've heard you say in the five years I've known you. Do you need to lie down? I hear the first time always hurts a little."

She snagged a ladle from a drawer and started filling the bowls with the steaming soup, "We both agreed to keep it to ourselves because we didn't want to deal with all of the gossip, though who he tells to get into bed isn't information I particularly care about anymore."

"So you shattered his poor, foreign heart a while ago, then."

"Two weeks," she said easily, picking up the two full bowls and making her way to the table, "Spoons are in the drawer under the microwave."

"Well if it's been two weeks," House began as he got two spoons from the drawer and followed her to the table, "then you're a big, fat liar."

She placed one bowl at each place mat and took her seat, "How does that make me a liar?"

He tossed her a spoon and sat down across from her, "Because a lovey-dovey woman, such as yourself, doesn't spend years in a devoted relationship only to throw the whole thing away and come out perfectly sane and together two weeks later."

"Oh, right. I forgot. I'm a helpless little waif who is completely overcome by her emotions," she ate a spoonful of soup, "Thank you for reminding me."

"If I'm wrong, then give me an alternate theory," he dared, slurping down a helping of soup.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, "Are we doing a differential on my love life?"

"Do you even have another theory, or were you just foolishly hoping that a denial would actually satisfy me?"

"Sure do. My level of emotional maturity is higher than a seventeen year old's."

He nodded, "Of course it is. It'll even be able to drink in a couple of years."

She ignored her food and set her jaw, "So if a woman feels any emotion she's a sobbing bag of estrogen, but men who only chase after women he knows he doesn't have a future with is the picture of mental health."

"You'll have to explain that one, I'm not sure if you're referencing Foreman or Chase."

Cameron dropped her spoon into her bowl, letting it clink against the ceramic, "Stacy, the CIA babe, the psychiatrist in the south pole, Cuddy…you don't see a pattern?"

House's brow furrowed, "How do you know-"

"That's the funny thing about people who actually deal with their grief," Cameron interrupted, "they talk to each other just like I've been talking to Wilson since Amber died. You almost broke up a marriage even though you knew Stacy would ask you to change, you hired a doctor who was dumb as post because she showed interest and whipped out euphemisms, you started caring for a _patient _who lived _in Antarctica_, and you practically tackled Cuddy to the ground even though you knew she wanted a baby more than anything else in the world. You chase impossible women on purpose because it satisfies your need for the hunt while guaranteeing that you won't actually have to commit to anything. Sure, you honestly go after them, but when it all comes tumbling down you're more than happy to get back to your misery and your Vicodin. Ironic, huh?"

She picked up her bowl, went into her bedroom, and slammed the door.

House sat still for a moment. Pushing his dinner away from himself, he yelled after Cameron, "You know, if you keep ending conversations this way, your neighbors will think you got a new boyfriend!"

He stood up from the table and left the apartment, digging his phone out of his pocket and pacing back and forth in the hallway. He dialed Wilson and waited impatiently for his friend to pick up.

Finally, he heard the oncologist say, "Kill her yet?"

"You told Cameron about the psychiatrist and the stupid CIA chick?" House inquired loudly, still pacing.

"Whoa, what happened?" Wilson asked, "How did you guys get to talking about-"

"She dumped Chase," House said, interjecting, "and took out all of her little girl frustration on me, saying all of this crap about how I actively pursue women that I know I have no future with because it satisfies my need for the chase but saves me from actual commitment."

Wilson was still catching up, "And you called me because you want me to tell you the truth? Okay. You actively pursue women that you know you have no future with because it satisfies your need for the chase and saves you from actual commitment."

House had to fight to keep himself from yelling, "You agree with her?"

"I tend to agree with people who are right, yes."

"And you didn't tell me this because…" House searched for a possible reason and didn't come up with much so he grasped at straws, "…you started a betting pool on who I'll try to have sex with next? It's fun for you? You're _Satan_? "

"I had only noticed the pattern after Cuddy, and it hasn't seemed like you wanted hear it."

"When do I _ever_ want to hear what you have to say?" he snapped.

Wilson's tone firmed up, "Stop yelling at me because you're pissed that she nailed you."

"Oh, she didn't nail me," he scoffed, "she lashed out at the closest living thing she could get her hands on which, thanks to Cuddy, was me."

"She nailed you, House. But if you're so convinced that she's wrong, get back in there and give her the what-for. Be sure to pause dramatically in all the right places and throw a chair if the mood strikes you."

Wilson hung up then, and left House alone in the hallway.

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**2****nd**** Author's Note: **By the way, I'll still add more chapters…I was just being…funny…ha…haha…::Cough::


	4. Chapter Four: Motives

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all who have reviewed so far, and a special shout out to Limaccia (I love hearing which bits you found particularly funny =P).

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**Chapter Four: Motives**

Cameron woke up the next morning with a higher fever than the day before and an aching body. She begrudgingly rolled out of bed and stumbled into her bathroom to take a shower. After the blow out the night before she had planned on climbing into bed and fuming, but instead she had climbed into bed and passed out without finishing her dinner.

When her shower was through and she had blow dried her hair, she got into a pair of clean, white cloth pajamas and picked up her bowl of day old soup before trudging out into her living room. Wandering into her kitchen, she poured the soup down the drain and washed out the bowl.

Glancing up, she saw Gregory House passed out on her couch, hugging his cane to his chest, and she dropped the bowl with surprise.

The loud _thunk_ of ceramic falling onto metal jolted the miserable doctor awake, and he lifted his head up to look around. His eyes squinting to the point of almost being closed, he scanned the room until he saw her standing in the kitchen.

"'Good morning House' works too," he said groggily, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

"You're still here," she said with wonder.

He shook his head and inhaled sharply to wake himself up, "Physics 101. When someone doesn't leave, they stay in the place they were."

She gradually made her way out of the kitchen and ended up standing by her bedroom door, "Why?"

"I'm curious," he replied, "and lazy. I didn't feel like driving all the way home just to turn around and come back."

"Curious about what?"

He pushed himself up from the couch and into a stance, "You hungry? I can go get something from somewhere since you're pantry resembles Jessica Simpson's head. 'Cause you know…it's empty…" When all he got was a questioning look from her, he leaned on his cane a bit more and dropped the act, "Why do you care?"

She leaned her shoulder up against the bedroom door, "I'm the bleeding heart of Princeton Plainsboro," she answered with a soft sting of sarcasm, "I have to care."

He tilted his head and squinted his eyes for a moment, "Did you talk to…" he shrugged it off, "never mind. Why do you care about my patterns with women?"

She crossed her arms in front of her, "I'm sorry."

"Now see, I like you better when you don't apologize for taking someone's head off, especially if it's justified." He looked her over. "Was it?"

"Shouldn't that be my question?"

He shook his head, "Not necessarily."

She was completely still, "I believe it was."

"Why?"

"Because it's true."

"Whether or not it was the truth is irrelevant," he said with a shrug, "You were adamant. Was that justified?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"You think that by answering my questions with questions I'll get all frazzled and give up…"

"Isn't that a tactic you live by?"

He took her in for a moment, his mouth solemn but his eyes smiling, "Answer the question."

She let out a deep breath, "I think I was justified."

"In your emotional response and your impressive door slamming abilities?"

"Yes."

He took a couple of steps closer to her as he thought out loud, "See, now that's interesting. There's only one reason why someone whose skirt hasn't been chased would get _that_ worked up over someone else's bad habit of chasing skirts they know are ultimately doomed."

He was still mostly across the living room, but nevertheless she felt herself take a step back as she said, "What's your point?"

"You're pathetic," he mused.

"You're terrified."

"Oh please, you would _love_ to think that I'm terrified."

"And you would love for me to believe that you aren't."

He stifled a laugh, "You are the queen of rationalization. You can turn anything I do or say into something that makes you hope so you can put off facing reality until tomorrow."

She opened her bedroom door, "We've had this conversation before," she said softly, "Go get breakfast, House. I'm not playing anymore. I quit."

She disappeared into her room then, gently closing the door behind her.

****************************************

Ten minutes later House was waiting for his take out order at the first café he'd found as he called Wilson's office.

"James Wilson," the oncologist greeted formally.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," House admitted.

"House, I do have patients you know. People dying, people bleeding out of funny orifices…"

"My curiosity is trumping my common sense."

Wilson sat back in his chair, relenting to his friend's insanity once more, "Well that's never happened before," he said dryly, "How does it feel to be acting so far out of your comfort zone? Oh yes and, by the way, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I slept at Cameron's last night."

"You did _what_?!"

House groaned, "On the couch, you lecher. This morning I pretty much backed her into a corner and forced her to admit that she still has a thing for me."

"Does she?"

"Of course she does, she's pathetic."

Wilson sighed directly into the phone, "And you're calling me because…why are you calling me?"

"She said that she 'quits,' whatever that means, and then she sent me out to get breakfast. I have a theory."

"I'm shocked."

"She's bipolar."

"_House_."

The café employee called out House's order number and he stepped forward to grab the bag that was offered, "She was castrating me yesterday and ready to jump on me today."

"Yes, well a mood disorder _is_ the only logical explanation for that kind of thing," Wilson paused to think for a moment before continuing, "Look, it's New Year's Eve."

"When did that happen?"

"About the same time last year. Take care of her, get her tissues, take her temperature _the grown up way_, ring in the New Year, and go home."

House held the bag of food under his arm as he hobbled out of the restaurant, "Yeah, I'll just tell my curiosity to take a nap. It's fool proof."

"Would you like a good reason to keep your curiosity in check?"

"Sure. Know anyone who's got one?"

"If you don't reign in your curiosity about this, you're in love with her."

House scoffed, "This is why I hate talking-"

"There, problem solved."

Wilson hung up on him then, and House looked up at the sky with frustration.

"This is all your doing," he swore to the Heavens.

He popped a Vicodin into his mouth before heading back to Cameron's apartment.


	5. Chapter Five: Not Quite Midnight

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! I just discovered that you can reply to reviews now (it's been THAT long since I've been active on this site) so now I'll reply to your reviews. =D

And a big ol' welcome to the people new to House and House/Cameron. Fun, ain't it? ;)

Oh, and if you like this fic please take a peep at the couple of Hameron trailers I have on Youtube.

You can find one here: .com/watch?v=B7oTBkz-Ppw

And the other one here: .com/watch?v=FLH5-JUX1hQ

Enjoy. =D

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**Chapter Five: Not Quite Midnight**

The last day of the year had passed at a painfully slow speed. Cameron had spent most of the time in her room while House whittled away his hours in front of the television. Once she had asked him to run to the store for juice and tissues and he surprised her by not putting up much of a fight. When her fever spiked for a couple of hours, he had made sure to keep the rag for her forehead ice cold. None of this took much spoken communication, which was alright with both of them, albeit for different reasons.

Cameron woke up from her nap and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was nearing midnight, and after a quick self evaluation she decided that she felt good enough to make the journey to the living room so she could watch the ball drop in Times Square on her T.V.

As she closed her bedroom door behind her, she saw that House was still there, sitting at one end of the sofa sipping one of the beers he had gotten during his earlier grocery store run.

"You don't have to stay, you know," she said as she curled up on the opposite end of the sofa.

He only glanced over at her for a second, "I could be watching hot young bands perform in New York here or at home. I don't see much of a difference."

She felt a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth, "Right." They watched the festivities on T.V. in silence for a few minutes. Band after not-so-talented band came and went, performing what sounded like the same song in different keys.

With midnight now only a few breaths away, she shifted in her seat as she said, "I have a question."

"I have a cunning way to avoid it," he replied nonchalantly.

"I can still ask."

He kept his tone flat and his focus on the television, "I thought you quit."

Her vision drifted over to him, "And you believed me?"

"You sounded pretty convincing, but then I didn't know what you were talking about so I just took your word for it."

"A quick guy like you couldn't keep up with the conversation?" she teased.

He looked over at her, "Is that the question? 'Cause it's pretty lame. I was sure you were gonna go for something way more weepy and personal like my favorite color or what movies made me cry."

She leaned her head back on the sofa, "Is it so bad to care?"

"Is _that_ the question?"

She bit back a grin, "Not _the_ question, no."

He sipped his beer, "Caring people annoy me."

"I don't believe you."

"What misguided notion makes you say that?"

Cameron directed her attention back to the television, "Wilson," she answered innocently.

"Oh come on, at least come up with a _good_-"

"He's the one hole in you're entire lifestyle," she began, still looking at the T.V. as she cut him off, "You claim to be so bothered by people who give a damn and yet the only friend you have is one of the most caring people at the hospital. It doesn't make sense. It's an anomaly."

The people in the television started the ten second countdown to the New Year.

House rolled his eyes at her little speech and turned back to the T.V. "I'm not gonna answer that big question now that you've proven just how pathetic you really are."

Her head tilted slightly as she looked over at him, "I'll ask it anyway."

"Have fun with that."

"Why haven't you chased my skirt?"

His gaze darted over to her then, and the New Year arrived.

As the people in Times Square cheered, all they did was stare at each other.

Cameron tucked a blonde strand of hair behind her ear, the knot in her stomach finally getting the best of her, "I'm not expecting an answer."

He searched her eyes with his own, "What are you expecting?"

"Nothing," she lied.

"And if I did something?"

She felt her breath catch in her chest, "I guess…that's up to you."

He nodded, "Alright."

He stared at her for another couple of seconds, then went back to watching T.V. and sipping beer.

As she watched him ignore her, she felt her jaw drop slightly as a tremendous feeling of disbelief washed over her.

"I'm an idiot," she proclaimed with a short laugh.

"No argument here," he quipped.

She leaned over and yanked the T.V. remote from his hand, switching it off, "You're really enjoying this aren't you?" she asked, unable to veil her frustration any longer.

"Okay," House sighed as he got up from the couch, "I'm leaving."

She stayed seated for the moment, "Aren't you?"

"No," he snapped, "Not really. I'm a bottle of Jack Daniels and three hookers away from enjoying this. I'm also leaving."

"Why?"

He let out a short, exasperated groan, "Because I can't take another self-righteous spewing of bullshit theories."

She got up from the couch, "What bullshit theory? It's a _fact_ that you enjoy dangling all of this in front of me."

He snatched his motorcycle jacket from the couch and started pulling it on, "Please, _please_, spare me the childish ranting."

"You only call me childish because it lets you dismiss everything I say."

"Flip that, reverse it."

"You've spent the last five years giving me just enough rope to hang myself with."

With his jacket on, he started to make his way to the door, "Yeah, well, feel free to take advantage of that."

She continued with her accusations, "You've spent so much energy saying just the right thing, trying to make me think that all of this is one sided and banking on the idea that I would never actually confront you."

"Enough!" he yelled at last, turning back to her, "This isn't high school, this isn't a complicated mind game, and this isn't some complex series of signals. Has it _ever_ occurred to you that_ you're just annoying_?"

She stepped up to him, placing her hands firmly on her hips, "Then answer my question."

"You haven't asked one!" he exclaimed.

"Why haven't you chased me?"

"Oh dear god," he muttered as he turned and placed his hand on the doorknob.

She passed by him and pushed her back up against the door, "Would you like for me to answer that for you?"

He leered in her face, "_No_!"

"I annoy you because you know I'm right," she began, ignoring his wishes, "You've only been here for the past two days because you can't decide if you want to just keep stringing me along or if you want to be a man and actually do something about it. And you haven't chased me because when you look at me you see a future, and that scares the hell out of you."

He took a deep breath to steady himself, "Let me out," he demanded, his eyes boring down on her.

"No."

"Don't make me move you," he threatened.

"Go ahead," she dared, "Move me."

Taking her challenge, House stepped towards her. In one fluid motion, he dove in and suddenly pressed his mouth to hers, pinning her to the door. She was blind sided for only a moment, then she blissfully relented and wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss and letting her body melt decadently into his. Holding her with one arm, he turned her around and starting guiding her towards her bedroom. She followed his lead, now cradling his head in her hands as she stood tip toed to keep her lips against his, mingling and tasting him with a mounting passion.

When they were halfway across the living room, he abruptly pulled away.

"There," he breathed, "You're moved."

He left her standing there, wide eyed and speechless, as he went back to the front door and opened it roughly. Before he actually stepped into the hall, however, he paused.

Cameron stood still, perplexed beyond all reason. Time seemed to suspend itself, tension thickening the air.

He hung his head, "Damnit," he swore under his breath.

Quietly closing the door, he let his cane fall to the ground as he turned to face her, taking off his motorcycle jacket as he did so. Cameron crossed over to him, and his jacket joined his cane on the floor as she propped herself up on the tips of her toes once again, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him hard enough to make him fall backwards. It was his turn to be pinned to the door as he let himself hold her close, their bodies rubbing up against each other in the most intoxicating way.

He wouldn't sleep on the couch that night.

* * *

*

* * *

**Author's Note: **For those of you wondering – no, this is not the end. Not even close. They have plenty more to get through, trust me.


	6. Chapter Six: Like it or Not

**Author's Note: **This is a bit short, but I figured two updates so close together would make up for it. Keep the reviews coming, feedback is vital to any writer. =D

* * *

**Chapter Six: Like it or Not  
**

House woke up the next morning to the sound of a shower running. When he remembered where he was he bolted upright, then took a moment to sink into the reality of the scenario. With a quick glance around the room he saw that Cameron was nowhere to be found, showering no doubt, and he climbed out bed. After he untangled himself from the sheets, he wrestled himself back into his clothes as quickly as his leg would allow. The pain was particularly sharp that morning, and once he was dressed he double-timed it out into the living room to get to his pills. He hurried across the space and picked up his cane and jacket. Digging out his bottle of Vicodin, he tossed two down his throat before he bothered with putting it on. Dressed and ready to flee the scene of the crime, he opened the front door and escaped into the hall.

As he closed the door behind him, he nearly ran smack dead into James Wilson.

"Get back in that apartment," Wilson ordered.

House jumped with surprise, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Cameron called me this morning worried that you would try and do something stupid and cowardly. She didn't use those words, but given the situation I can't really blame her."

"She told you to come here?"

"No," Wilson explained, "She just called for my advice. She has no idea that I'm here and, at the moment, no idea that you're trying you're hardest to screw this up."

House tried to rationalize, "She caught me at a weird moment, I just wanted to leave and-"

"Oh cut the crap," Wilson chided, "This is a good thing, House. And not one of those pesky good things like hope or compassion, but an actual _good_ thing. Now get back in there and talk to the woman."

"She's just gonna prance around," House complained, "sing a song, probably light some candles. I don't need to be there when she breaks out her baby pictures."

"You don't know that. She sounded different on the phone."

House tried to make a break for it, but Wilson saw it coming and moved quickly, snatching the cripple's cane away and backing up out of his reach.

Wilson leaned on the cane, mimicking House's usual stance, "You're not getting this back until you go in there and deal with this."

"What am I, five?" House whined.

"No, a five year old would be handling this with more maturity than you're currently utilizing. This isn't a toy car you got from the store. It's Cameron. Whether you like it or not she knows you and, whether you like it or not, you're going to at least give her a chance."

"Or what?"

"Or I will beat you with this cane."

House scoffed, "You are nowhere near that cool."

Wilson took a step forward, his tone lowering with the gravity of what he was about to say, "Do you remember when I said that I broke the cycle with Amber, and that's why the relationship had a chance?" He pointed at Cameron's door, "Your shot at breaking the cycle is in that apartment." He offered the cane to his friend, "Now go."

House looked down at the floor, then over his shoulder at the door behind him, then back at Wilson. He didn't reply, he simply took his cane and went back into the apartment.


	7. Chapter Seven: Concede

**Chapter Seven: Concede**

Cameron stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a thick, pale yellow towel. Positive that House had left while she had been in the bathroom, she opened the door to her bedroom with a disappointed sense of ease.

At the same time, the door from her bedroom to the living room opened and House entered.

Her skin jumped at the sight of him, "Oh. You're here."

He stood in the doorway, "You keep saying that like it's a bad thing."

"No, I just…you're dressed," she noticed.

"I, uh…have a case," he lied.

She readjusted her bath towel to make sure she had a good grip on it, "Right."

He gently cleared his throat, "You're never gonna leave me alone now, are you?"

She tensed up in spite of herself, "Do you want me to?"

"I don't know," he admitted, shifting his weight uncomfortably, "I told you about the clenching thing."

She let out a breath and tried to relax, "I forgot."

He let his eyes wander around the room, "I'm twice your age."

She took a step forward, "I've always wondered why that bothered you so much. It's not like you have a reputation for following rules, especially over something so subjective."

"It doesn't bother you that when I was in college, you were in kindergarten?"

"It would have bothered me if you had hit on me then," she said with a soft smile, "I'm thirty, House. I graduated from grade school a long time ago."

He held his position in the doorway, letting himself make eye contact with her every now and then, "This will get out. Then I'll have everyone we work with talking to me like I'm on General Hospital, and while that was great fun the first time-"

"I'm sorry about that," she apologized quickly, "I was too busy gloating at the time to realize how annoying that must have been." She stepped closer to him, her body language softening. "We don't have to put a label on this, and if there's no label then there's nothing to talk about. I don't need to wrap this up in a pretty package. This is more difficult for you than it is for me, and I'm not here to rush you, or force you into anything. You call the shots, I'll go along for the ride." Now she stood directly in front of him. "I just want a chance."

House's eyes flickered over her body, taking her in, "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" she asked quietly.

"You're in a towel, pathetically begging me to do this, but I'm the one…" he shook his head, "I won't to be a charity case."

She looked at him with an even gaze, "As sexy as that cane is, it's not your best feature."

"That spot's taken by the Vicodin and self-loathing."

She shook her head, "No. It's not."

Without warning, he turned to leave. She caught him by the hand and he stopped. He looked back at her, trying to decide if he should pull away. Before he could make up his mind, she pressed her body into his and gave him a brief, but open-mouthed, kiss. When she withdrew, he didn't say anything. Gregory House was speechless, and he had no idea how that affected him.

He didn't know what made him do it, but before he let go of her, he gently squeezed her hand.

A moment later he was out of the apartment and making a bee line for Wilson's office.

************************************

"I hate that she knows me," House muttered as he paced back and forth in his friend's office.

Wilson sat at his desk, completely fascinated by what was happening, "Something tells me that's not entirely true."

"How did this happen?"

"Do you really want me to answer that, or do you want to keep agonizing?"

"Everything is rhetorical until further notice."

Wilson nodded, "Then can I go get some coffee?"

"No," House stated flatly, "She looked at me with this disgusting expression of understanding. Who in their right mind understands me and still likes me?"

"Gee, I have no idea."

House stopped pacing and stared down the oncologist, "_Rhetorical_. Adjective. It means 'keep your valid points to yourself for two damn seconds.'"

Wilson leaned his forearms on his desk and folded his hands, "Fine, continue."

"She didn't even ask for anything," House said, starting to pace again, "She didn't want to call it anything, she just wants to see if it goes somewhere. Who the hell doesn't want to define a relationship?" Wilson went to answer, but bit back his words as House pressed on, "It's like she offered me a relationship with no strings. I don't even know what that means, let alone if it even exists. There's something wrong with her, there has to be. Maybe she got syphilis from Chase. I should get tested."

"House."

"There's just no logical reason for this."

"_House_."

"It must be a birth defect."

"_House_!" Wilson yelled, slapping his hand down on the table, "Give it up! Two people on this entire planet know that you're a human being! You've lost!"

House stopped pacing and shot an incredulous look in his friend's direction, "Was there a point in there somewhere or was the dramatic gesture too tempting to resist?"

Wilson took in a deep breath, "It was fine for me to know you and actually like you because as long as it was just one person it could be classified as an exception to the rule. You could go on being the brooding, misunderstood, mysterious man behind the curtain. But now that two people have figured you out you have to face the fact that you're just like the rest of us. You don't want to be miserable, you don't want to be alone, and now you don't have to be and that terrifies you."

"But she makes me insane," House insisted, "I even squeezed her hand before I left! Nobody does that!"

Wilson grinned knowingly, "You care about her. As much as you hate to admit it, she's gotten to you and you're angry at her because she hasn't given you a reason to run back and hide in your fort."

"But-"

"Shut up and be at least somewhat happy. The only thing in the way is your pride and ego," Wilson said as he stood up and opened his office door, "Besides, if you have the nerve to throw away your chance after I lost mine, I'll tell everyone in this hospital that you cry over her in the janitor's closet every other Friday. Out."

House stood still for a moment, allowing the new information to sink in, then he made his way out of Wilson's office.

"I'm still taller," he sneered.

He gave Wilson's leg a swift whack with his cane and walked off.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I know it's bouncing back and forth between Cameron and Wilson and Cameron and Wilson, but the next chapter should be the start of some variety with that kind of thing.


	8. Chapter Eight: Newsflash

**Author's Note: **Sorry that it took me a couple of days to update, I had classes and I also had no idea how I wanted this chapter to play out. I knew what needed to happen, I just wasn't sure how to go about it. Now it all makes sense again. Happiness. Also, I have a brand new Hameron vid up on Youtube, it's set to Please Don't Leave Me by Pink. I put about 12 straight hours into it (I got on a roll) so please take a look. =D Link: youtube . com/watch?v=4CWYAMnSy_4

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Newsflash**

House sat in his office, spinning around in his chair at a leisurely pace. Someone had finally come down with an interesting disease, and he had his team in the lab running a handful of tests while he busied himself with studies on perpetual motion.

Wilson entered suddenly with an appalled expression, holding his arms out. He stood still for a few seconds, trying to search for something to say.

Finally, House had to break the silence, "Are you…trying to take flight?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Wilson asked loudly, his hands falling to his sides.

"Sitting in my office," House replied easily, "but I can see how that would enrage you beyond all reason."

"It's been two days!"

"Yeah, yeah," House said, rolling his eyes, "she's been waiting for over five years, I figured another week wouldn't kill her."

"You take care of her while she's sick, you sleep with her, then you ignore her for two days and don't go to see her when she's admitted to the hospital? The Devil would be so proud."

House's ears perked up, "What?"

"What, what?" Wilson asked, momentarily confused, "The Devil would be proud because you're pure evil and are acting accordingly. I didn't think the metaphor would need explaining. _You're an ass_."

"Yes, thank you, let's try something I haven't known since preschool. Cameron was admitted?"

Wilson's face fell, "You didn't know?"

"My telepathy gets poor reception in this wing of the hospital."

"She's been here for a couple of hours, I was sure-"

"Why?" he inquired quickly.

Wilson exhaled heavily, "Her flu progressed to pneumonia. At least we think it's pneumonia, we're testing to eliminate COPD and we're still waiting on the ECG results to rule out a pulmonary edema."

House inhaled sharply, nodded, and leaned back in his chair, "Good to know."

"Go see her!" Wilson demanded, pointing out of the office.

He ended up pointing at Taub, Kutner, Thirteen and Foreman as they entered the office with files in-hand.

"Go see who?" Kutner asked.

"I'll tell them," Wilson threatened House.

"Yeah," House replied, "After the test results." He looked at his team expectantly, "And?"

Thirteen spoke up, "It's boring. Everything can be explained by excessive drug use and the tox screen was off the charts for everything but hashish."

"Fantastic," House yawned, "Get out."

"House," Wilson warned.

"What?" he dared.

There was a short moment of silence while the team traded glances and two department heads had a staring contest.

Wilson crossed his arms over his chest, "He's in love with Cameron." He watched House's eyes widen. "Didn't think I'd do it? Shame on you."

The team was baffled.

"Is he serious?" Kutner asked with a surprised expression.

"No," House snapped, "He's just starting a vicious rumor because he knows about the poisonous scorpions I've hidden in the bed that represents his dead girlfriend."

Wilson was barely affected, "Nice try, but that wound doesn't respond to salt so easily anymore. It's called healing, you should try it." He turned to the team. "Cameron's flu has turned into pneumonia and she's been admitted. Get him to grow up and go see her and I'll give you a bonus out of my own pocket."

Wilson left the room, leaving House to deal with his lackeys.

"Anyone who leaves me alone," House began, "Gets a bigger bonus out of Wilson's pocket."

After the team took a second to weigh the pros and cons, they all quietly left the office.

Except for Kutner.

"How did I know," House grumbled.

Kutner slid his hands into his doctor's coat, "You really love her?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes. Oh," he said with an overly fake, defeated reaction, "shucks. You got me. You are just too quick."

Kutner wasn't phased, "You should go see her."

"I'll probably swing by if she takes a turn for the worse. She did work for me for a while, so I guess a final goodbye isn't completely inappropriate."

"So, what," Kutner began, "You're gonna intentionally avoid seeing her just to prove that you don't care?"

"Sounds good to me."

At that moment, Wilson came back into the office and was disappointed at what he found.

"No, no, no," the oncologist complained to Kutner, "You weren't supposed to have the guts, you never have the guts. Surely Thirteen or Foreman have some free time."

"Wilson," House said before Kutner could answer, "You've already started a nasty rumor about me today, what could you possibly want to do now? Break my stereo? Kick my leg?"

Wilson stepped up to his friend's desk, "Well I do you owe you one, but I was planning on that to be a surprise for later. No, I came back for a much more shallow, immature reason. I want you to go talk to the sick woman that you're crazy about."

"That's a bit of an odd request, but fine. When I'm crazy about a woman I'll go talk to her when she's sick."

Kutner chimed in, "So you _are_ crazy about her?"

"Get out," Wilson ordered, unable to hide his exasperation.

Kutner obeyed, and now they were alone.

"You can't tell me that you're not worried," Wilson said with dead certainty.

House picked up his cane and got up from his chair to leave, "Since I haven't been rendered mute, I'm pretty sure I can tell you whatever I want. For example: Go to hell. See how easy that was? Let me do it again so you can catch the subtle nuances. Go-"

Out of nowhere, Wilson reeled back and punched House square in the jaw. The crippled doctor fell against the wall near the television and dropped his cane, completely stunned at the violent outburst.

"We're even," Wilson said as he flexed the hand he had hit his friend with, "You have no reason, _none_, to be avoiding her. Even if you don't love her, you could at least show the smallest hint of compassion for a sick former employee."

House rubbed his jaw, tasting a bit of blood in his mouth, "If I go, then they'll spread it around the entire hospital."

"I might be foolishly optimistic, but I think your team is smart enough to figure out that you not going to her is just as telling as going. Possibly even more so, considering that it's you we're talking about and not someone with normal wiring." He turned to make his way out of the office. "At least make a damn choice. Don't hang around and brood."

"Could you at least pick up my cane?" House asked in a bratty tone, "That way God will forgive you for striking a cripple."

Wilson thought a moment, then he left the room without another word.

"Meanie!" House yelled after him.

He would spend the next hour in the last place anyone would think to find him: The Clinic.


	9. Chapter Nine: The Odds

**Author's Note: **Okay, okay, it's kind of a short chapter. But again, you're getting two updates in less than 24 hours so hush. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Odds**

It was eleven o'clock at night at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, and all was as quiet as a hospital could be. The night shift staff had just taken their posts, caffeinated and ready to go.

In one particular private room, Cameron was curled up in bed with a blanket, sweating with a fever but shaking slightly with chills. She rolled over from one side to the other, and gasped lightly when she saw House sitting by her bed side, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"Your ECG was normal," House said, quietly clearing his throat, "and we ruled out all of the other likely, and unlikely, suspects. Looks like you have plain ol' bacterial pneumonia. We started you on azithromycin, so as long you don't have any complications you'll be fine."

Cameron pulled her blanket tighter around her body, "Why are you here, House?"

"To give you the test results and diagnosis. I thought all of the fancy doctor lingo would've tipped you off."

"Convenient how everyone we know is gone for the day," she said, looking at him with a knowing expression before changing the subject, "What's stopping you?"

He knew the topic was coming, but it still made his shoulders tense up, "At the moment: bacterial pneumonia and a whole lot of sweat."

"And before I got worse?" she challenged softly.

He swallowed hard and averted his eyes, "I don't understand why you want to be with someone like me."

"You know, for someone whose chief sin is pride, you have pretty deep self-esteem issues."

"I have pride in my mind and in my work," he explained, "everything else is subject to my own scrutiny."

She let a small smile show on her face, "With all due respect, I'm not asking for you to give yourself a chance."

"Doesn't matter. Your motivations are an anomaly."

"And that's all that's bothering you? My motivations? Not your fear of change, or your resistance to vulnerability?"

He pounded his cane on the floor with frustration, "Stop knowing me!"

She couldn't help but laugh, "You're awfully cute when you're exposed."

He shifted his weight in the chair, "Thanks to you and your chief sin of lust that takes on a whole new meaning," he grumbled as he took out his Vicodin and popped one into his mouth, "I have a bet for you."

"I'm braced."

He stood up and approached her bed, "I bet you dinner at Café Spiletto that you don't live through this."

"It's pneumonia, not small cell lung cancer" she said, stifling another grin.

He shrugged, "Tragedies happen everyday. Since you were admitted for shortness of breath and chest pains I'm betting on a respiratory failure."

She nodded like it made perfect sense, "So if I lose, I die. If I win, I get a date."

"Looks that way."

"And you're okay with your odds?"

"They call it gambling for a reason. You know, because of the definition."

"Right," she agreed, letting a few seconds pass, "Café Spiletto, huh?"

"Yeah, why? Is that significant?" he asked with the utmost innocence.

"I can't think of why it would be. With you?"

"Me? No, I'll be busy. I hear Kutner's free, though."

She watched him for a moment and enjoyed how off-balance he was, "Alright."

"I won't visit you again, either. You'll have to get through the rest of this without me as your beacon of strength."

"Why?"

"Wilson has a big mouth."

"Well you were holding your breath like a five year old."

Realizing what that meant, he set his jaw, "No more talking to Wilson. You two are bad enough separate, I'd hate to see what happens when your Wonder Twin powers activate."

"Fine," she giggled, "We won't talk about you anymore."

"And I'd rather not shout this from the rooftops just because he can't keep his mouth shut."

"Okay."

"Complete denial would probably be best."

"Of course."

"Good. Now stop being irresponsible and get some rest," he nodded towards the clock on the wall, "It's past eleven. You have pneumonia, for Christ sake."

She expected him to leave then and she started to settle into a good sleeping position. Catching her off guard, he took her left hand in his, bent down, and kissed it gently. When he let go, he noticed her stunned expression. His mouth was expressionless, but his eyes were dancing.

He went to the sliding door, and when he was half out of the room he looked back and insisted, "You're forehead was _way_ too gross to be an option."

Then he was gone, and she drifted off to sleep shortly after.

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**Author's Note: **Again…not the end. Promise. How about this, when the end comes, I'll put THE END in big bold letters. That way I won't have to keep telling you. =P

Keep those reviews coming, please!


	10. Chapter Ten: Love Heals

**Author's Note: **Hiiiii! I know, I know, I vanished for a while. A ton of shit decided to hit the fan and, well…you can imagine the mess. I'm back, though! Did anyone catch the latest episode? There was a lot of wonderful Hameron stuff happening. Message me if you wanna chat about it. And, as always, send a review my way if you can! XD

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Love Heals**

Wilson sat at a table in the hospital's cafeteria, eating a sandwich and watching people go about their business. Without warning, House appeared and messed up the oncologist's hair before taking a seat.

Wilson calmly fixed his hair, "Nice to see that your maturity is nice and comfortable at the elementary school level today, much higher than usual."

House sat back and made himself comfortable, "It's always so neat and trim, it screws with the world's natural disorder."

"Well we can't both fit in with the natural world, contrast provides a compelling dynamic," Wilson looked down at his plate, then back at his friend, "What's wrong?"

"There has to be something wrong in order for me to talk to you?"

"You didn't take any of my food, and yes."

He bounced his cane on the floor, "I already ate."

"So it's about Cameron."

All House did in response was glare, which told Wilson everything he needed to know.

Wilson set down his sandwich before continuing, "She's been healthy for weeks, during which you decided to play Phantom of the ER and string her along while whining to me about how she's taking all of your bullshit antics in stride but somehow standing up for herself in the process. You have no problem whining, so your silence plus your sudden lack of lunch thieving means you've actually set a date for Café Spiletto and your inner emo kid is freaking out. By the way, setting up the whole dead-or-date thing was pathetic, even for you."

"The date is tonight."

"And this makes you…scared? No, no that's just silly. Let me have another guess."

"A patient in the clinic was guzzling water and in tears that her urine was clear and I just let her go without telling her to save the world and have a hysterectomy."

Wilson snapped his fingers, "Maybe you're happy. No, that's silly too. One more try, I swear I'll get it this time," he thought for a moment, "You secretly enjoy Cameron but you know it won't stay a secret forever and then you'll have to admit to the world that love has found Gregory House."

"I don't love her," he scoffed, "How could I love her?"

"That's an entirely different conversation. Take her out, enjoy her company, and enjoy the secrecy while it lasts. Who knows, by the time everybody finds out you might be crazy enough to put up with the ensuing outpour of congratulations and the irreparable damage to your grouchy, I-make-detachment-sexy reputation. Then again, that does go back to the whole 'love' thing…"

"Remind me why I haven't killed you yet."

"I can climb stairs faster than you."

Wilson picked up his sandwich again. Before he could take a bite, House stood up and snatched the food from him, hobbling out of the cafeteria without a goodbye.

***********************

Cameron looked herself over in her bathroom mirror, now perfectly healthy and in tip-top condition. It had been a few weeks since House's late night visit to her bedside, and since then the crabby genius had done a pretty good job of staying hidden away in the shadows. When the mood struck him, however, he would appear in the ER suddenly and insult her work while casually dropping in details about their impending Café Spiletto outing.

Now the evening had finally arrived, and Cameron had purposefully chosen to wear the same dress she'd had on for their first official date. At this point she was feeling that this was sort of a do-over for them, and House had hinted at the same sentiment in between quips about her hair and digs at her small breast size.

The doorbell rang then, and she tried not to smile as she made her way to the door and opened it.

House was waiting on the other side, dressed in a nice suit, leaning on his cane, and holding a single red rose.

Cameron couldn't bite back the smile any longer as she quietly accepted the gift. She appreciated his classic take on romance, and she especially enjoyed how moments like these kept him on edge in the most adorable way.

"You're wearing the same dress," he commented, determined to keep his vulnerability in check, "I'm glad you decided not to think about this all that much. I didn't."

"Well," she responded simply, "Tonight isn't all that important."

"Just settling a bet," he agreed, "I almost didn't wear a suit at all, but then I remembered that there are laws against public nudity."

"You decided to start obeying laws now?"

He ignored her comment, "I didn't make any reservations for tonight. Hopefully they're booked, The L Word is having a marathon."

She took a moment to study him, "Couldn't find the same corsage?"

He went to make a flippant remark, but at the last second he faltered. Shifting his weight, he shook his head and broke eye contact.

"You looked everywhere for it," she said gently.

He nodded.

Cameron stepped forward then, the movement catching his attention. She kept advancing steadily until she was pressing the length of her body into his. He looked down at her as she started to lean in for a kiss, his eyebrow arching.

"You're making out with me before we've even had dinner?" he asked.

She was so close to him now that their noses were practically touching. She answered with a deep, "Mhm."

He squinted his eyes, "Whore."

To his own surprise, he made the final move.

* * *

**2****nd**** Author's Note: **For those craving conflict…never fear. Oh, and bravo to those who get what the chapter title references. ;)


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